


How Deep Is Your Love

by grumblesandmumbles



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Clubbing, DJ - Freeform, Dancer Ian, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, Public Blow Jobs, Slow Burn, club scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5037229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblesandmumbles/pseuds/grumblesandmumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich is an up and coming DJ, trying to first take over Chicago and then the world. He's been through a lot of heartache in his life, and is just trying to pave his way to a fresh start. But then he meets Ian Gallagher, a dancer at the hottest new nightclub in Boystown. Can you really run away from your past? How will this impact Mickey's dreams of making it big?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mickey was lost in sound.

His head was bobbing from side to side, large headphones over his ears and closing him into a world of bass and beats. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. There was something missing; he looped in a sample he had recorded the other day, a small piano melody. _Yes_. It was coming together. Slowly, this collection of sounds and samples was becoming a song. A song that was Mickey’s brain child. He had been a DJ for a little while now, but he was only just starting to venture into making his own original songs, wanting to take the next steps to make a name for himself.

Though his eyes were still closed, Mickey could see the light in the room flickering off and on. He held up a finger, wanting another moment before he put the track to bed for the night. He opened his eyes and made sure that the track had recorded before he stopped everything and turned it off. Mickey looked up, through the glass window separating his studio from the rest of his apartment, and saw his sister Mandy lounging in a chair and watching. She wiggled a few fingers at him in greeting while he made sure everything was where he wanted it to be. Finally, Mickey stepped out of the studio and closed the door, locking it behind him.

“So, how did it sound?” Mickey wasn’t one for exchanging standard pleasantries.

Mandy tried to reach out and nudge him with her foot, missing as he sidestepped her. “Hello to you too. It sounds great, is that your new one that you’re working on?”

Mickey nodded, taking a cigarette out of his pack and lighting it. He offered the pack to her and she pulled out a cigarette of her own, placing it between her lips and waiting for Mickey to light her up. He flicked the lighter and held it out for Mandy to light off. They both puffed quietly, stopping to flick ashes into the ashtray every so often.

“Any luck finding gigs?” Mandy asked.

Mickey’s dream was to get a major residency, somewhere in Vegas or Ibiza, where the real power crowds and the money were. But he knew he had to start somewhere, and had been scouring the Chicago scene for DJ jobs. He had been at one club for a little while, bringing in some steady cash, but unfortunately they had went under and just like that, Mickey was jobless again.

He shrugged. “There’s a new club opening in Boystown, Nirvana. They offered to let me work a Thursday night as an audition, see what they think.”

Mandy reached over and punched his shoulder eagerly. “That’s great!” She could see that Mickey didn’t share her enthusiasm. “That _is_ great, isn’t it?”

Mickey sighed. “I mean, sure the opportunity might be great, but it’s Boystown. I don’t want to get a rep as being the DJ for the gay scene.” He bit at his lip. He knew he was nitpicking, but he also knew that a reputation in the club scene could really stick with you. It was a tight knit community.

Mandy considered his words. “Mick, just because you’re gay doesn’t mean that you’ll be looked at as ‘that gay DJ’... Besides, everyone starts somewhere. Better than being the guy known for DJing house parties and bar mitzvahs.” She stubbed her cigarette out and leaned over to ruffle his hair, getting up and walking towards her room, throwing him a middle finger salute over her shoulder as she went.

Mickey knew she was right. He never liked admitting when Mandy had his number, particularly because it happened more than he would acknowledge. He padded over to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He moved around, restless, surveying the loft he and his sister shared. Sometimes, Mickey couldn’t believe that this was theirs. The loft itself wasn’t fancy by any means. But they had scraped and schemed to get enough money together to buy it. It had been cheap enough, a huge warehouse space they scooped up on the cusp of a gentrification push, still in the Southside but almost bordering a nicer neighborhood. The area was starting to verge on trendy, but they had got in at the right time and weren’t being robbed every month.

They had worked slowly to turn it into a functional apartment, drawing up bedrooms and calling in favors to get a kitchen and a real bathroom in place, the majority of the work done before Mickey lost his job. But the real money had went into Mickey building his studio and paying for a security system every month. He hoped and wished that his investment would one day prove worthy, but it wasn’t there yet. But they were determined to leave their criminal roots in their past and to stay legit, no matter how they had to do it. They were hanging on. Not every day was easy, but they were hanging on.

It was theirs. This life, this apartment, and Mickey and Mandy were proud as hell of it.

\----------

Thursday, Mickey arrived early at the club with his equipment so that he could get set up.

The manager, Sidney, came out to greet him while he was getting connected to their sound system. Mickey knew the deal; he would get paid for tonight either way, but there was no further guarantee until they saw how he did and how the crowd reacted. This night was a soft opening. The club wouldn’t be open to the general public for a few more weeks, and this was basically a test run to work out the kinks and the details. Some of the friends of the staff were invited, as well as some VIPs and local press, all in the hopes of leading to a solid opening when they were really ready for business.

Mickey knew how it worked, but he had never been involved in the process this early. He was surprised they didn’t have their DJ situation figured out already, but he didn’t ask. Once Sidney left him to it, Mickey did his sound check and adjusted some levels to make sure there was no feedback. A young gentleman in sequined shorts came over and took Mickey’s drink order. The night was ready to roll.

\----------

He didn’t want to jinx anything, but Mickey thought the night was a great success.

As soon as the crowd started to fill up, the dance floor was packed and stayed that way all night. A number of people had come over and made requests, and Mickey was able to fulfill quite a number of them, working them in with the songs he was planning to play. He knew it was always a good sign when you could please the crowd. From his vantage point in the DJ booth, he was able to gauge the crowd and he really thought that Nirvana was going to be a success. The place looked good, the layout was good, and the staff were quite attractive from what he saw. While Mickey himself wasn’t active in the gay scene, he could see why it would appeal to someone who was.

Sidney rushed over after everyone had dissipated, interrupting Mickey while he was breaking down his setup to transport home. “Mick, great set. Got lots of good feedback. We would love to have you be our house DJ, Thursday to Sunday nights. Are you in?

  
Mickey didn’t have to think hard before nodding and shaking Sidney’s hand. Just like that, Mickey had a job.


	2. Chapter 2

_Wednesday, Three Weeks Later_

Mickey fussed with the collar of his leather jacket, straightening it out for what felt like the millionth time. He examined his reflection in the standing mirror in his bedroom. Normally he would be content with his baggiest jeans and a cutoff t-shirt, but he could hardly show up for a staff meeting at his new job in that getup. He turned from one side to the other, taking in the tight black t-shirt and more fitted jeans Mandy had picked out for him. _Good enough_. He pulled on his one decent pair of boots and grabbed his keys, shouting a goodbye to his sister, though he didn't wait for her response.

As Mickey drove to the club, he could feel nervous energy coursing through his body. He tapped a beat in the steering wheel as he made his way towards Boystown. He had to circle a few times before he found a spot and he thought he would be late, making him nervous about leaving a bad impression. Thankfully, he finally found something and even had a chance to smoke a quick cigarette before he pushed through the doors and went inside.

Mickey heard voices and moved in their direction, leading him to the main dance floor. There was a handful of young men milling around, all dressed in their street clothes. Mickey gave them a nod but didn't speak. Little by little, other young men appeared and finally Sidney himself rushed in.

"Sorry I'm late, boys!" He apologized as he strode across the room. "Last minute details to handle. Looks like you're all here, let's get to it!"

Sidney briefly ran through his rules and it all seemed pretty normal - No drugs, be on time, no hooking up on the premises, either with each other or with the patrons. He told them they were still looking for a few more dancers but had some leads. They were opening in two days, and the excitement seemed to fill the room. Everyone there was ready.

Lastly, Sidney went around and introduced everyone, saving Mickey for last. "Boys, this is Mickey. He's our house DJ for all of the big nights, Thursday to Sunday. Make sure you take care of him. If he needs anything, find it."

Mickey waved sheepishly, embarrassed with the special attention. He noticed a few of them eyeing him appreciatively; it was a weird thing that came with the job. The DJ was always looked at with a touch of reverence from the younger, newer staff. At first, Mickey had found it hard to believe, but now he was just sort of used to it. He kept himself away from it though. He was there for a job, and he would do it, but he wasn’t looking for connections or hookups or romance. Usually, Mickey would find one or two other people who had been down that road before and maintain just enough friendliness to get through each shift.

With nothing left to discuss, they were all dismissed. A few of the guys mingled for a bit, getting to know each other, but Mickey made a hasty exit. He always found it best to find the people to befriend when they were actually working. It was much easier that way to separate the ones who wanted something out of him from the ones who seemed to follow the same rules he did.

\----------

After the staff meeting, Mickey went home and holed up in his studio, wanting to work more on the new original song he had started. He turned his equipment on, put the headphones over his ears and got lost in that world again.

He knew that plenty of people didn't look at DJs as "real musicians," a distinction that pissed him off. Sure, a lot of it was digital editing and mixing, but the source material all came from somewhere; what Mickey didn't do himself he would call on others to assist with. He had played the snippet of piano that was now weaving through his song. It was his ear and talent that taught him how to mix, how to move fluidly from one song to the next, and he resented the idea that it was all fake somehow.

Mickey saw the lights flashing on and off again, the official signal that Mandy was on the other side of the door. She knew better than to knock and risk the noise finding its way onto a track. It had happened before and Mickey had flipped out. He looked up and saw her waving a beer bottle at him from the other side. He nodded and took his headphones off, stepping out to greet her.

"How was the meeting?" She asked as she offered him the cold drink.

He twisted the top off and took a long sip. "It was fine," he replied. "Nothing of real importance. Just the usual, rules, schedule, blah blah blah."

Mandy smirked as she raised her own beer to her lips. “Any hotties?” She took a sip before she could laugh at the aggravated face Mickey pulled at her.

“You always ask that shit,” he huffed at her. “And the answer is always the fuckin’ same. I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m there to work.”

“God,” she sighed. “I know. That doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun while you’re at it. This is a different life, Mick.”

He placed his beer down and scrubbed at his face with both hands. “A’rite, I get it. I know. It takes time.”

Mandy peeked over at him, a hesitant look in her eyes. “Yea, Mick. But haven’t we wasted enough time by now?”

They really tried not to talk about their past anymore, not even so much as a hint. It was better that way. Safer. But every once in awhile, they needed to remind themselves or each other that it was just that - their past. The looming threat of Terry and the things that he put them through was gone, as was Terry himself. They had essentially cut off almost everyone in their lives except for each other, and occasionally their brothers Colin and Iggy. But moving on with their lives had its own roadblocks, which they seemed to stumble across now and then with no warning.

She held her beer bottle out and wiggled the end of it at him, urging him to clink with her. “C’mon, let’s toast to all the time we’re not going to waste anymore.”

Mickey picked up the bottle and paused for a few seconds before he tapped them together.

\----------

It didn’t take Mickey too long to get acclimated at Nirvana. Sidney was easygoing; as long as no one was fucking up, he pretty much let things run themselves. He would occasionally catch Mickey after closing with a comment or suggestion, but mostly Sidney was pleased with his performance.

Mickey liked the freedom he was provided. After he was there for about a month or so, he started slowly testing out new things. He knew that most club goers like the standard fare; pop-dance remixes, stuff you heard on the radio with an extra beat added to it. Mickey was more than happy to play that for them, but his passion was for the music that was more prevalent in the EDM scene. The stuff you didn’t hear everywhere. He started out with the crossover DJs, the ones who had built that cult following overseas and achieved mainstream success stateside. Mickey saw that the Sunday crowd seemed to be more inclined towards that, and he expanded to others that were less known by the public, eager to see the reception. It was good, and Sidney was pleased at Mickey’s ability to gauge the crowd.

He focused on lyrically driven songs with good beats. Mickey enjoyed the paradox of the upbeat nature with lyrics that betrayed the depth of what the song was actually about. He never talked about it, but this was the music that spoke to him. For anyone who paid attention, they would learn more about Mickey than they ever could from trying to get him to tell them anything. Music said all of the things that he couldn’t put into words for himself. But he had yet to encounter anyone who had figured that out besides Mandy.

It was another Sunday night and Mickey was playing some of his favorites. He was flying high as he watched the crowd bobbing and swaying with the music. They were into it, and it felt really, really good. He even found himself dancing a bit, a sign that he was in good spirits. As he moved back and forth, he saw Chris approaching. He was one of the club’s cocktail waiters, cute but in a forgettable way. He was also the only person Mickey had become friendly with since Nirvana opened. He liked Chris because he could tell that Chris didn’t have an angle, didn’t want anything from him. As he got closer, Mickey pulled his headphones away from one ear so he could hear.

“Hey Mick,” Chris greeted with a smile. “What are ya drinking tonight?”

“Hey, Jack and coke would be great,” he responded. “And some water. Thanks.”

Chris nodded and left to fill Mickey’s drink order. When he returned, they made small talk for a few minutes before Chris had to circulate and take care of customers in the reserved and VIP sections. The night continued in that stead, Chris refreshing Mickey’s drink every so often, a bit of chit chat, lather rinse and repeat. He regularly worked with Chris on Friday and Sunday nights. It was just how Mickey liked it. After growing up in a childhood full of chaos, he had a real appreciation for stability and routine.

\----------

The following Sunday night, Mickey’s comfortable routine changed.

He was at his DJ station, looking at his playlist for the next song he wanted to prep, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he spun around, putting his hands to his headphones and yanking them down roughly until they hugged his neck.

“Jesus,” he exclaimed. “Can’t sneak up on someone who can’t fuckin’ hear you.”

The guy looked embarrassed. “Sorry. I just came over to get your drink order.”

_My drink order?_ “Where the hell is Chris?” He asked.

The guy shrugged. “Don’t know, man. I’m new. He didn’t show up today, they pulled me off the floor and told me to take care of you and the VIPs.”

Mickey sighed. _Figures the one guy I actually talk to would pull a runner._ The guy was watching him curiously, and Mickey wasn’t having it. “Bourbon neat, thanks.”

The guy watched him for a few more moments before giving him a quick nod and walking away. Mickey got back to what he had been doing, transitioning into the next song and moving songs around on his playlist. A few minutes later, the new waiter returned, but this time he was determined to make sure Mickey saw him. He approached from the front, waving his free hand to make sure he was noticed, and Mickey couldn’t help but feel a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth despite his best efforts to stifle it.

This time, Mickey pulled his headphones down gently and accepted the drink when it was offered to him. “Thanks, man.”

“Sorry about before,” he replied. There was a moment of hesitation before he offered Mickey his hand. “I’m Ian.”

Mickey reached out and shook his hand, taking a moment to finally appraise him. Ian was taller than him by at least a few inches. He had a shock of red hair, kept a big longer on top and swept back from his face. His skin was pale and smooth. Mickey couldn’t help but notice he had a strong jaw that was a little crooked. He sipped his drink and used it as an excuse to sneak a glance down Ian’s body, noticing the faint muscle lines on his torso and arms, how the sequined “uniform” shorts sat low on his hips. Only an idiot wouldn’t notice that he was very, very attractive. But he didn’t have time for this.

“Mickey,” he replied shortly. “Thanks for the drink.

  
He pulled his headphones into place and turned back to his turntables. He could have sworn he felt Ian’s eyes burning into him for a long moment, but he refused to turn around and see for himself.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sometimes, it’s just not your fuckin’ night_. This definitely hadn’t been Ian’s.

He was tired and in a shitty mood. First he got taken off the floor and was told he was on waiter service for the night. Most people would assume that would be better for him, but it was his experience that he made more money dancing, especially if he managed to pick up a nice amount of private dances. When the end of the night came and Ian counted out his money, it was much less than he hoped. Resigned, he had heaved a sigh and left with no further word.

On good nights, Ian would spring for a cab home from the club, but this wasn’t one of those nights. He went to the el and took the train home, standing up for the duration of the ride so that he didn’t fall asleep. It had happened to him before. When he finally reached his stop, he shuffled the few blocks to his apartment and pulled his keys out of his pocket, letting himself in and dropping his stuff on the floor. He would deal with it later.

Ian’s apartment was small, barely even large enough to count as a studio, and it was nothing special. But it was his. He made the rent every month and he no longer had to live under the scrutiny of his siblings. They tried their best, but he knew every time they looked at him, they saw his mistakes and his bipolar disorder, and most of all, they saw their mother. Ian hated feeling like he was living life under a microscope, and getting himself together and moving out had been the best thing for his relationships with them.

When his bipolar disorder had first appeared, Ian had struggled with it for quite some time, denial his strongest ally. Eventually he had come to terms with it, focusing on rectifying everything that he had neglected. During the worst of it, he had dropped out of high school, ran away, done a lot of things that should have been a sign that something was different. He didn’t like to think about that time, some of the events still being unclear even to him. Instead, Ian dedicated himself to moving forward. He had gotten his GED and was enrolled in community college. He was trying to take his prerequisite classes so that he could transfer to a four-year school and decide what he wanted to do with his future. The only thing in his life that was any bit similar to before was working in the clubs, but this time around he was much more clear headed. He wasn’t partying, he was taking care of himself outside of work, and he was just going through the motions.

Ian checked his watch and figured he had time for a beer before he went to bed. He couldn’t drink much, the alcohol interfering with his meds, but it had been awhile since his last dose, and one beer never bothered him. He grabbed one out of the fridge and flopped down on the futon he had gotten for his place. Ian stuck his hand under his blanket and fumbled around until he found his remote, turning on the TV and leaning back, throwing his feet up on the storage chest that was doubling as a coffee table.

He kept thinking about his night, the shitty tips he made, the one table of gross older men in the VIP section who had tried to get just a little too handsy. His mind wandered and he found himself thinking about Mickey, the DJ that he met for the first time. _God, he was kind of a dick_. But he was hot. Ian couldn’t help but notice it. He had a shock of jet black hair, slicked back and not a strand out of place. His complexion was milky and pale, his eyes some of the bluest that Ian had seen. Ian thought about how he had startled Mickey, how when he had spun around, he was carrying himself as if he were much larger than he was. He was smaller than Ian, shorter by a few inches and fairly trim, but solid, if the breadth of his shoulders was any indication.

Hot guys in the gay scene were a dime a dozen. Ian had met plenty, fucked plenty, liked and hated plenty. But he couldn’t think of the last time that one of them made such an impression on him after one less than stellar first meeting. He was intrigued, and he wanted to find out more.

\----------

Ian sat up a few hours later, grabbing for his phone to silence the alarm that told him it was time for his morning dose of pills.

He hated getting up so early to do this after working so late, but he had to keep to a routine and figured it was probably smarter to stick with the school schedule and not the dancer one. He popped the medicine in his mouth and stuck his face under the kitchen faucet to get enough water to wash them down. He padded the few steps back to the futon and flopped down, rubbing his face aggressively and rolling over to bury himself face down so he could try to avoid the sunlight for a little longer. He managed to doze off for another hour or so before he resigned himself to getting up.

The downside of getting off of work so late was that Ian usually managed to make a waste of most of the following day. When he did finally get up, he decided he wanted to make the most of it. He threw on a pair of sweatpants and decided to go for a run. He tried to channel all of the things he was aggravated about and use that to fuel his exercise. His feet pounded out a rhythm as he first passed street after street, then mile after mile. He knew that he needed to get out of the club scene; it reminded him too much about the past he was trying to let go, and the hours were killer. But nothing else paid like that did for someone with no experience. He figured if he could just bide his time until he was done with his degree, it would all be worth it.

Eventually, Ian circled around and made his way back towards his apartment. He stopped and grabbed some food on the way, getting home and grabbing his school bag. He settled down to eat and study, knowing that if he didn’t get some reading done before he had to get ready for work tonight, he never would. Ian stayed there for a while, highlighting sections and scribbling notes in the margin of the book, checking the due dates on some of his assignments, creating an outline for a paper he had to do. School didn’t come naturally for Ian, but he was determined to use the work ethic he had always relied on to just get through it.

He checked the time and realized he had better go and shower if he was going to be on time for work.

\----------

Ian made it with just enough time to get ready. He went to his locker and pulled out the black sequined shorts, which were Saturday’s color. He stifled a sigh as he stripped off his street clothes and pulled the shorts on. There was a full length mirror at the end of the row and he went over, adjusting himself in his shorts so that his bulge was more prominent and running some eyeliner quickly along his lower lash line. He took an extra moment to look at himself in the mirror, feeling his own judgment at his predicament but grateful that his eyes were clear and alert. _This is just a temporary thing, a means to an end, it’ll all be worth it when it’s over_.

He rushed out to the floor, finding his way to the shift supervisor, Eduardo.

“Cutting it close, Ian.” He chided.

“But I’m here on time, almost doesn’t count.”

Eduardo simply nodded and directed him to a platform for his first turn. The dancers all rotated over the course of the night, maximizing their exposure to the crowd, giving them the most opportunities to find people for lap dances and private shows. Ian made his way and got up on the raised platform, bobbing a little until he caught the rhythm of the song and started moving faster. He liked Mickey’s taste in music more than any other club he had worked in before. _Mickey_.

The name flitted through Ian’s mind and he instinctively found himself turning to look at him. He was off to the side of the DJ booth, not in Mickey’s line of sight, but he had a good view. He watched Mickey, who was focused intently on his screens and turntables in front of him. Mickey wasn’t exactly dancing, but his body was incapable of standing still, something Ian had noticed was common with all DJs and definitely not strange. His rhythm was very natural, at odds with his abrasive nature, and Ian secretly wished he could see what it would look like if Mickey was out there dancing with him. Before he could let the fantasy get away from him, he felt a tap and saw his relief dancer next to him. He jumped down from the platform and made his way to the next spot.

After one or two more turns, Ian was on a platform directly across from the DJ booth and right in Mickey’s line of vision, though it didn’t seem to do any good. Mickey was too concentrated on what he was doing. The only time he looked up was when a patron would come up and give him a request, taking a brief moment to nod and answer before moving back to his place. He seemed cordial enough, but not exactly friendly by any means, a paradox for a job where his goal was to please and entertain.

Ian spotted Chris, the waiter he had filled in for the night before, making his way to Mickey with a drink. Even from across the room, Ian could tell that Mickey’s reception of Chris was much more friendly and relaxed than any other interaction he had seen. He was fascinated as he watched them chat for a minute or two before Chris went back out to make his rounds.

A short time later, Ian was pulled off the floor to take a break. He went back into the locker room and stumbled upon Chris, who was on break too. _Ironic_. But Ian figured this may be his best chance to find out more about Mickey, and feel out if there was something going on with him and Chris. Ian greeted him casually enough, making small talk and exchanging pleasantries, but he knew he had to move quick. Their breaks weren’t very long. After a moment or two, Ian made himself get to the point.

“So have you met the DJ?” Ian asked him, trying to sound as nonchalant as he could. He didn’t know how well he pulled it off; his brother Lip always said he had no clue how to play things cool.

“Mickey? Yea, he’s nice.” Chris replied, not seeming to think anything about the question.

_That’s hardly an answer_ , Ian thought in annoyance. “What’s his deal?”

“No idea,” Chris said with a shrug. “He’s friendly enough, but we don’t talk like that.”

Before Ian had a chance to try to get any more out of him, Eduardo came around to get them back out to relieve the next guys who were due for their relief. Ian moved to his next dance platform, catching the rhythm and losing himself in the music again until he noticed Chris bringing Mickey another drink. He noticed when Chris leaned in close and said something, the result of which was Mickey looking up and scanning the room until his eyes locked on Ian, towering over the crowd on his platform and hard to miss.

  
_Fuck_.


	4. Chapter 4

“One of the dancers was asking about you.” Chris greeted Mickey as he brought him a new drink.

Mickey couldn’t fathom who would ask about him. He didn’t even know any of them. “What? Who?”

“Tall redhead,” Chris replied with a smirk. “I think his name is Ethan? I don’t know, I never talked to him before.”

“What the hell did he want?” Mickey didn’t like feeling on the spot like that. He felt his eyes scan across the room until they locked in on their target. The guy was dancing on a platform across the room, and Mickey was pretty sure he knew he was being watched, if the way he was moving was any indication. This was precisely why he didn’t bother to talk to many people when he was working; next thing you knew, people wanted to know everything about you and he was was too private for that.

Chris shrugged and said, “Just asked what your deal was. Maybe he has the hots for you.”

He moved away from the DJ booth and left Mickey to consider his words. Mickey, however, had no intention of even thinking about that, and promptly went back to what he had been doing. He transitioned into the next song and let himself fall back into the music.

\----------

There was no contact between them for another week, until Ian was pulled off the floor to cover waiter service again. He groaned to himself internally at the money he knew he would lose that night, but secretly, he was intrigued to have a chance to talk to Mickey again. He even examined himself a little harder in the mirror, pulling the elastic band on his red sequined shorts down lower than normal before moving out into the crowd to get started working.

Ian made his way to the booth, nervous but figuring he’d be best to just get it over with. It was going to be a long night. This time, he made sure to approach where he could be seen, and tried to greet Mickey as casually as possible.

“Hey, what are ya drinking tonight?”

Mickey barely afforded him a glance as he said, “Guess Chris is out again tonight, huh?”

Ian huffed out a little sigh. “I dunno man, they don’t give me all the details, they just tell me where to go.”

Mickey shrugged. “Not my business anyway. It’s Ethan right? I’ll take a vodka and soda. Thanks.”

“Actually it’s _Ian_ ,” he responded with a glare. “I’ll get your drink.”

He turned tail and left. He could tell that Mickey wasn’t the friendliest, and he was fine with that, but to not even remember his name? Ian found himself really annoyed. He also wasn’t used to not being able to get or keep a man’s attention, and it bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He drummed his fingertips on the top of the bar impatiently while he waited and when the drink was ready, he practically snatched it out of the bartender’s hand. He made his way back to the DJ booth and placed the drink down at Mickey’s side.

Ian saw Mickey look over at him, staring at the red shorts he was wearing. “Can I help you?”

Mickey cocked his head thoughtfully. “Just surprised they’d have a redhead wearing shorts that color. You kinda look like a candy cane, red and white and all that shit.” He picked up the drink and took a sip, nodding his approval. “Thanks for the drink, Evan.”

Now he was fuming. “It’s _IAN_.”

“Oh, sorry about that Ian.” Mickey apologized, but then promptly turned back to what he had been doing. Ian stood there for a moment, trying to figure out if that whole conversation had just happened, before he stormed off.

Mickey smirked to himself and sipped at his drink. He had genuinely forgotten Ian’s name the first time, assuming that Chris had been correct when he called him Ethan. But the second time was intentional, meant to get under Ian’s skin, and it had worked well if his petulance when he left had been any indication. _That’ll teach him to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong_ , Mickey thought.

\----------

Weeks went by, and they managed to not have any further run-ins with each other. Chris was being better about his schedule and covering his shifts and it was working out better for everyone. Despite everything, Ian still found himself checking Mickey out every so often. It was totally ridiculous, he could admit that to himself, but Ian found himself inexplicably drawn to the asshole DJ. _Fuckin’ figures_.

It was Sunday night and Ian was heading home from a very long but lucrative shift. He had gotten a number of private dances and had done very well. When he had counted up his money at the end of the night, he realized he even had enough to tuck away a few bills for a rainy day. It was the best shift he had at Nirvana since it opened, and for the first time in a long time, he felt good as he left the club.

The street was quiet and Ian started to walk towards the train station. As he approached the corner of the building, he saw a young man who looked vaguely familiar; it took him a minute to realize he had given the guy a dance earlier in the night.

The guy looked at him and said, “Thanks for that dance earlier. Looks like you did well tonight.”

Two other guys came around from the side of the building and Ian realized what was happening. _Fuckfuckfuck_. He tried to step back quickly, but they grabbed his arms while the first guy tried to feel around for his pockets to get the money he had shaken his ass for all night. Ian flung his weight back and forth, trying to shake the men off him, and he kicked at them for good measure. He felt something hit his head hard and he slumped down, the men still holding his arms up while the ringleader shoved his hand in Ian’s jeans pockets. The money was tucked in a hidden pocket on the inside of Ian’s coat, and he prayed they didn’t find it.

He was still struggling with them, despite being prone on the floor, until he felt another blow to his head which nearly knocked him out. His vision grayed out and he could feel blood trickling down his face. Ian sagged down and was about to just give up and let them take his money when he heard a scuffle. There was a heavy thump and then he heard a sickly cracking noise and a yelp of pain before hearing one more sound which terrified him. It was the hammer of a gun being cocked. Ian thought he was a dead man before he heard a voice and realized it wasn’t talking to him.

“You better get the fuck out of here before I blow your brains out into the snow and call it mental mush, you fucks.” The voice was gruff and was followed by a smattering of footsteps running away. They got quieter and quieter until there was silence.

Careful steps approached Ian and he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Hey, look at me. You okay?”

Ian slowly opened his eyes and saw Mickey squatted down above him.

\----------

Normally when Mickey witnessed a fight, he would just steer clear and ignore it. Everyone from the Southside knew that sometimes you just had to mind your own fuckin’ business. But he had grown up small and scrappy, and a three on one never seemed fair. Seeing that stopped him, and then when he realized who exactly that “one” was, he couldn’t just let the guy get his ass kicked.

Mickey always carried a gun. He knew what people were capable of, had seen it firsthand, and was not about to take chances. He rushed over and pulled one guy off Ian’s arm and moved him back, kneeing him right in the gut and shoving him down on the floor. He retracted his arm and punched the other guy holding Ian straight in the nose, the bone’s crunching noise of great satisfaction to Mickey. Before the third guy could react, Mickey had already pulled his pistol out from the back of his waistband and had it ready to fire. The three men scrambled as quickly as they could to get the hell out of there. But they were of no concern to Mickey.

He made sure the safety was on his gun before he shoved it back in its place and crouched down to check Ian out. Mickey could tell that he was awake, but he was worried that Ian might have a concussion.

“Hey. Hey, look at me. You okay?” Mickey watched as Ian looked up at him, recognition on his face but his eyes unfocused. “C’mon man, let’s get you home.”

He gently pulled Ian up to a sitting position so that he could better get him up from the floor, and Ian tried to push him off but there was no real fight in it. “Leave me alone.”

“Nope,” Mickey replied. “Can’t do that. I’m not a total asshole.”

Once Ian started to work with him, Mickey had an easier time getting the redhead to his feet. Mickey steered them towards his car and unlocked it, getting Ian seated in the passenger seat and then moving himself to the driver’s side. He started up the car and let it warm up for a minute or two while he appraised Ian and tried to decide if he needed to go to the hospital. He knew it would have probably been not only smarter but also easier, just drop him off and be done with it. But now he felt an obligation and he knew that if it were him, he wouldn’t want to go unless absolutely necessary. So instead, he made a decision.

“What’s your address? I’ll drive you home.”

Ian mumbled the address and Mickey recognized the street name. It was also Southside, and only about a half mile from his apartment. He couldn’t believe they hadn’t crossed paths. He pulled out of the parking spot and made his way through the quiet streets. Ian slumped against the passenger window and started to lightly snore. Mickey caught himself looking over from time to time, admiring his features and how peaceful he was now. When he got to Ian’s place, there was a spot right in front of the place next door, and Mickey pulled into it. When he turned off the car, he took another moment to look at Ian.

_Man, he really is fuckin’ beautiful_.

He gently reached over and shook Ian’s shoulder. “Hey man, wake up. We’re here, I’m going to help you out of the car.”

Ian stirred and Mickey took that as his cue to get out and go around to the passenger side. Slowly, he extracted Ian and led him to his building. Ian’s apartment was on the ground floor, and once he had his keys out it was easy enough to get him in. Mickey unlocked his apartment door and swung it open, greeted by the small space. He looked around to get his bearings and led Ian into the bathroom. Mickey sat Ian on the edge of the tub and pushed his jacket gently off of his shoulders. He found a washcloth under the sink and ran the water in the sink to wet it. He lightly wiped the blood from Ian’s face.

Ian leaned into the touch, letting Mickey clean him up. Eventually, Mickey finished and moved Ian over to the futon, sitting him down and moving back into the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet and saw a few prescription bottles, ignoring them in favor or looking for some over the counter pain medicine. He found an aspirin bottle, shook a few out and brought them back to Ian. There was a water bottle on the floor and Mickey grabbed it.

“Take these, you’ll thank me later.”

Ian obliged, swallowing the pills and chasing them with the water. He dropped the bottle back on the floor and watched as Mickey shrugged out of his own jacket and sat down next to him.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“You could have a concussion. I’m sticking around for a bit to make sure you don’t.” Mickey grabbed his TV remote and turned it on, not looking over for Ian’s response.

Ian was surprised. Here was this guy who he had written off as an asshole, sitting in his living room after helping him out of a jam, making sure he was okay. It was strange and sweet and it endeared Ian to him. They sat there quietly for a bit until, funny enough, Mickey broke the silence.

“Wouldn’t have taken you for Southside.” He observed.

Ian shrugged. “Well I am, born and raised.”

“Huh. Me too. Fuck, we could have crossed paths a million times over the years.”

They were quiet for awhile. Ian was suddenly very tired, he wasn’t sure if it was a concussion, or the time, or just the events of the day, but it hit him all at once and he slumped his head back on the futon. “Nah, I don’t think we crossed paths.” He mumbled, almost incoherent.

“Why not?”

Ian was almost asleep. “Pretty sure I’d remember you,” he mumbled.

  
Mickey glanced over at him sharply, but Ian’s eyes were already closed and he had sunken further down into the futon. Determined not to think about what Ian said, Mickey refocused his attention on the TV in front of him and was intently watching an infomercial for some fancy food steamer when he felt Ian’s head slide over and land on his shoulder.He tensed at the contact, unsure of what to do. He almost got up and left, but he felt bad. Ian had a hell of a night, and he really wasn’t comfortable leaving him alone. Little by little, Mickey relaxed, and eventually he nodded off too.


	5. Chapter 5

Ian awoke to the sound of the alarm on his phone demanding his attention. He slowly opened his eyes, aware of the throbbing ache in his head and the awkward angle of his neck. As he straightened himself up, more pain shot through him, causing him to wince. Ian realized that he had been lying on someone’s shoulder and for a moment, thought he was having a flashback to days long forgotten. He glanced over, seeing Mickey sleeping next to him and it took him a moment to piece together what had happened the night before, remembering why exactly his head was killing him. **  
**

He dug his phone out of his pocket and silenced it, getting up carefully as to not jostle his head, and moved into his bathroom. Ian reached for the prescription bottles and took out what he needed. He looked for the aspirin until he remembered that Mickey had brought it to him last night. As he stepped out of the bathroom, he spotted the aspirin bottle on the storage chest and grabbed it, twisting the cap off and shaking out a few pills. Ian turned on the tap and filled a glass, taking all of the pills in one shot and chugging the full glass of water. He moved back to the futon and sat down carefully, his eyes on Mickey’s still-sleeping form. **  
**

Ian was surprised that the alarm hadn’t disturbed Mickey. He looked Mickey over thoughtfully; how he had shifted sideways after Ian got up, how even in his sleep his brow was furrowed. Seeing him in daylight, Ian figured that Mickey couldn’t be more than two or three years older than he was. For a brief moment, Ian wondered what it would be like to wake up next to Mickey under better circumstances, but he forced himself to push the idea from his mind. It had been made perfectly clear to him that Mickey didn’t pay him any mind. Just because he did him a favor the night before didn’t mean anything had changed. **  
**

Ian didn’t really know what to do with having Mickey in his apartment, but he felt bad disturbing his sleep, so he fixed himself some cereal and grabbed his textbooks. He tried to concentrate, but he found himself reading the same paragraph over and over, stealing glances at Mickey every so often to see if anything had changed. Finally, he got up and went back into the bathroom to examine his injuries in the mirror. He gently moved his fingers through his hair, feeling a tender bump from where he had been hit, and examined the small cut above his eyebrow. **  
**

“All things considered, you don’t look too worse for the wear. You must have a hell of a hard head.” **  
**

Ian jumped at the voice behind him and spun around, seeing Mickey leaning in the bathroom doorway. “Jesus, you scared the shit outta me!” **  
**

Mickey smirked at that. “Consider us even, then.” He moved into the bathroom and reached out, holding Ian’s jaw gently and moving his head from side to side so he could look him over. “You may get a shiner, but that’ll probably be the worst of it.”

He let go of Ian’s face and they locked eyes. The tension in the small room was palpable, and Ian wanted nothing more than to press himself against Mickey’s body, but he let the moment pass. He couldn’t read Mickey, something that bothered him because he was usually good at that sort of thing, and he had no idea if it would be well-received.

Mickey shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I uh, I actually came in here to take a leak.”

“Shit, sorry.” Ian brushed past him and pulled the door closed as he exited. **  
**

Ian found himself nervous. Usually he was confident with men, relying on his charm and good looks, but something about Mickey was different. It was clear that his usual tactics wouldn’t work, and he _really_ wanted to figure out what would. **  
**

The toilet flushed and Ian heard the faucet running and he could just sense that his window of opportunity would soon close. He felt if there was any chance to test the waters with Mickey, it had to be now. He wiped his hands on his jeans, his palms clammy with anticipation. When Mickey exited the bathroom, they both stood there awkwardly for a moment.

Ian shuffled his feet and looked at the floor. “I was wondering if I could take you to breakfast. As thanks, you know, for last night and everything.”

Mickey's face was impassive. “You really don't gotta do that, man.” **  
**

“I know.” Ian hesitated before continuing. “But I'd like to.” **  
**

He watched Mickey purse his lips, biting the inside of his cheek before answering. “Uh, today isn't really good. Actually, I gotta run anyway.” **  
**

Ian felt himself deflate, trying his best to hide his disappointment. “Oh… Okay.” **  
**

Mickey grabbed his coat off the futon and pulled it on. As he opened the front door, he looked back at Ian, his face concentrated. “Maybe another time.” **  
**

“Sure,” Ian replied, though he doubted that time would come. **  
**

Just like that, Mickey was gone. **  
**

\----------- **  
**

As Mickey drove home, he couldn't stop thinking about Ian. Normally he knew better than to shit where he ate, but Mickey knew that he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested in Ian, if he said he didn't want to know more, to explore him like uncharted territory. As he spent time in Ian's apartment, seeing the small hints of his life, Mickey wanted to know everything.

When he saw Ian's prescription bottles he had wondered _Is Ian sick?_ He hadn't checked the labels, he out of anyone knew and respected boundaries, but he wondered. When Mickey had woken up and saw the stack of textbooks on the floor, he wondered _What does Ian study?_ He had looked at the spines, the subjects giving him clues but not answers. _Intro to Psychology, Biology, Intro to Sociology_. **  
**

As Mickey got up and moved towards the bathroom, he could see Ian already in there, inspecting his injuries in the mirror. He studied Ian's profile, the angles of his cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw. He wanted to drag his tongue along that jaw, tasting Ian's skin. He pushed the thought from his mind as they talked and Ian left him alone in the bathroom. **  
**

Mickey knew what he wanted, he knew that he had talked to Mandy about not wasting time anymore, but he really didn't know if he could do this. It was too much. Deep down in a part of him that he didn't acknowledge, he knew he was scared to open himself to another person and take the risk of loving them. It had hurt him before. Hell, it had nearly destroyed him. Mickey wasn't confident that you could pull yourself out of the wreckage of your life more than once, and he wasn't confident that another chance would end up any better. So he just didn't let people in, save for his sister. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell her about this though. Mickey knew that if she knew there was even a hint of interest, she would latch onto the idea, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with her. **  
**

He parked around the corner from his building and idled in the spot for a moment before turning off his car and going inside. Mandy would be at work by then, and Mickey was grateful for the reprieve. But as he entered the apartment and heard footsteps rushing from her bedroom, he knew he had been wrong. **  
**

Mandy came at him swinging her fists. “Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

“Ow, Jesus!” Mickey deflected her hits and grabbed her by the wrists to stop her. “Calm the fuck down! If you were so worried why didn’t you just text me?” **  
**

She pulled her hands out of his grip and rubbed the wrists. “I did, asshole!” **  
**

Confused, Mickey pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked it. _Dead_. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t realize.” **  
**

He moved into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, Mandy hot on his heels.

“You didn't answer my question, Mick.” She reprimanded.

“I crashed at a coworker’s place last night.” He told her. **  
**

“A coworker huh? Did you…” **  
**

Mickey looked over when she trailed off and saw her making the okay sign with one hand and lewdly poking a finger through the hole with the other. **  
**

He scoffed and said, “It's not like that, the guy was jumped outside after closing, I broke it up. He got hit good in the head, thought he might have a concussion, that's all.” **  
**

Mandy smirked and came over, draping herself onto him dramatically. “Oh Mickey, you're such a hero! Saving that poor boy!” **  
**

He shrugged her off, starting to get annoyed with her antics. “Fuck you.” **  
**

He grabbed some mugs from the cabinet and got out the milk and sugar. He poured coffee for both of them and went about fixing his, sitting down at the kitchen table. Mandy leaned back in the counter, her mug in her hands, watching Mickey over the brim.

“Is he hot?” She asked. **  
**

Mickey avoided her gaze and shrugged. “He works in a gay club, of course he's hot.” **  
**

Mandy narrowed her eyes. “You're into him!” **  
**

This was exactly what Mickey had been trying to avoid. “I already told you, it's not like that.” **  
**

“You did,” she agreed. “But you're full of shit.” **  
**

Mickey ignored her and drank his coffee, refusing to acknowledge her staring at him and smirking.

“It's okay you know,” Mandy said thoughtfully. “Hell, it's _good_ even. You deserve to be happy, Mick. Danny would want you to be happy.” **  
**

Mickey slammed his mug on the table, coffee sloshing out. “ _Don't_ talk about him.”

“All this time and you can't even say his fuckin’ name,” she said quietly. “You can't change the past, Mick. You gotta let it go. You gotta let _him_ go.” **  
**

“I'm not sittin’ here pining away for him,” he yelled. “Fuck! But can you blame me for not wanting to get involved with someone again?!” **  
**

“You're scared,” Mandy soothed. “I get it, I do. But Mick, I really don't imagine it could ever wind up any worse off than it did for you and Danny. That's the good news.” **  
**

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Mickey told her sarcastically. **  
**

He got up and went to his room, leaving his mug and his mess in the kitchen. He threw himself down on the bed and thought about his sister’s words. Mickey knew she had a point. He tried not to think about it, but his mind danced around one name. _Danny_. Fuck, he had loved that kid like nobody else, had thought he’d never live a life apart from him. For a long time, it had been great. But when the bottom fell out, everything fell along with it. Mickey couldn’t bring himself to think of the details, but snippets flashed through his mind; fists hitting flesh, the sound of gunshots, the smoky, chemical smell afterwards that Mickey can’t describe but can’t forget. **  
**

Mickey wouldn’t allow himself to think about it any further. He couldn’t do it. He forced himself to get up and goes into his studio, locking the door behind him. He pulled the headphones over his ears and cranked the volume as loud as he could tolerate it, hoping he could drown out the noise in his mind. Mickey closed his eyes, not mixing, just listening. He felt prickling at the corners of his eyes and willed it to go away. **  
**

He could see the flashing lights, Mandy’s way of beckoning him, and he tried to wave her off. Normally she would leave him alone when he was in the studio, but this time she banged on the door until Mickey finally got up and unlocked it.

“Mick I’m sorry,” she said, reaching an arm around his neck and pulling him close to hug him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. That was a low blow. I just want you to be happy.” **  
**

He nodded into her shoulder. “I know.”

Mickey really just wanted to be fuckin’ happy too.


	6. Chapter 6

_This is a bad fuckin’ idea_.

Mickey couldn’t help but think it to himself as he sat outside Nirvana after closing that Friday night, car idling, window cracked just enough to let out the smoke from his cigarette but not the warmth from the heater. He was parked a few doors down from the club, waiting for Ian to leave for the night.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about him since he last saw Ian on Monday morning. Mickey would wake up, visions of fiery hair still in his mind. For the first time since he started working at the club, Mickey had been anxious to get to work on Thursday, and sorely disappointed when Ian wasn’t there. They usually worked all the same schedules, and Mickey had kept an eye out for him all night. It didn’t help that he had no way to get in contact with him, not that he would do so.

Mickey had spotted Ian tonight though, his hair like a beacon that caught Mickey’s eye. He had been on a platform off to Mickey’s right, muscles taut as he gyrated to the music. Ian wasn’t the best dancer, but fuck he was nice to look at. He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off Ian, and he hadn’t been the only one. It wasn’t long before he watched Ian move towards the reserved area where men paid for dances and dreams. Mickey had never really found the idea appealing, but he was starting to reconsider. He wouldn’t mind a private dance from Ian, not one bit.

He felt the cigarette burning hot as he got closer to the filter and took one more puff before pushing the butt out the window, blowing one last plume of smoke out behind it. The door to the club opened and finally, _finally_ Mickey saw Ian exit. As he got closer to where the car was parked, Mickey rolled down the window and leaned across the console separating the seats.

“Hey, want a lift home?”

Ian paused and stooped down to see who was talking to him, a quick flash as his eyes lit up with recognition. “What are you still doing here? Did you wait for me?”

Mickey bit his lip nervously. “Figured after what happened last week, might be smart to not take chances, just in case they wanted revenge and came back.”

Ian narrowed his eyes, not with anger but curiosity. “I really doubt they would come back for more after that.”

“You never know, I’ve pulled some shit in my day.” Mickey shrugged. “Anyway, whatever, you getting in the fuckin’ car or not?”

Ian seemed to think it over before finally nodding and opening the door. He climbed in and got himself situated as Mickey pulled away from the curb.

The ride was quiet; once Mickey had Ian in the car with him, he didn’t know what the hell to do. He hadn’t thought this out at all. Hell, he wasn’t even sure why he waited out there. He stole glances as Ian when he could, his tongue darting into the corner of his mouth. Mickey wished that the ride was longer, that it would give him that extra few minutes to come up with a plan, but it was all too soon that Mickey was pulling up in front of Ian’s building.

“Um, thanks for the ride.” Ian said shyly.

Mickey nodded. “Sure. No problem.”

Ian looked at him, his body tense. He appeared to Mickey like a tiger about to pounce on its prey. Mickey found it _very_ fuckin’ hot. He darted his tongue out and licked his lips while he watched Ian watching him.

“Well… Goodnight.” Ian reached for the door handle and let himself out. He walked slowly down the path to the building door, digging through his pockets for his keys. Nearly at the door, Mickey watched and all he kept thinking about was Mandy’s words about wasting time.

“Fuck it.” Mickey mumbled to himself. He jerked the key out of the ignition and rushed to get out of the car. He trotted down the walkway to catch Ian before he was out of sight. “Wait!”

When Ian turned around, Mickey was right there reaching for him. He grabbed Ian’s arm lightly, reaching behind his neck with the other hand and pulling Ian towards him.Their lips met and the connection was instant. Mickey felt Ian’s hands on his hips, pulling them closer together. He ground himself against Ian hesitantly, just to test the waters a little. That friction was something that Mickey hadn’t really experienced in a long time, and he sighed deeper into the kiss. Ian turned them around and had Mickey pressed back against the door, rutting into him more persistently.

_God that’s good, oh that’s so... No what am I doing? I can’t do this!_

Mickey broke away from Ian, suddenly feeling trapped between him and the door. He nudged Ian backwards so that he could move and mumbled, “I gotta go.”

Ian was totally perplexed. “What? Mick, hold up! Where are you going?”

“I can’t do this, I have to leave.” Mickey rushed down the sidewalk, Ian right behind him.

“Wait,” Ian argued. “Of course you can. C’mon, what’s the problem?”

Mickey walked away so fast he was nearly trotting. He didn’t answer Ian’s question, just hurried to the driver’s door and got back in the car. He cranked it on and threw the car into drive. The last thing he saw as he sped away was Ian standing dejectedly at the curb.

\----------

_What the fuck was that?_

Ian stood at the curb and watched until Mickey’s car was out of sight. Resigned, he finally dug his keys out of his pocket and let himself into the building, and then into his apartment. He pulled off his coat and tossed it, moving into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

He got in and grabbed the bar of soap, lathering it and rubbing it along his skin. Ian thought about the kiss. He thought of Mickey's lips, which were incredibly soft, and his tongue that tasted like cigarettes and strawberry gum. He thought about Mickey rutting against him. Fuck, did he think about that last part.

Ian could feel himself getting aroused and he leaned back on the cold tile and closed his eyes, hot water running down his torso. He traced a path down his chest with his hand until his hand was around his cock. He started slowly, his grip slick from the soap and water. Ian imagined Mickey's mouth on him, the smell of strawberry lingering in the air. He moved his hand faster, breath rushing in and out of him as he got closer and closer to the edge until he finally fell over it with a shout, knees buckling. Ian took a minute to catch his breath before he rinsed his body and turned off the shower.

\----------

Mickey didn't kiss.

Sure, he had fucked guys after Danny. Plenty of them, to be honest. But he didn't kiss them. Hell, most of the time he didn't even fuck them more than once. He couldn't bear any sort of familiarity. Mickey had only ever kissed Danny… And now Ian. So what the fuck had possessed him to do that?

Mickey could feel the panic building as he drove, and he just hoped he could hold it off long enough to just get home. Mickey made it, but barely. He pulled his car up to the curb haphazardly and rushed to let himself into his building. By the time Mickey made it to his apartment, his chest was tightening and he was struggling to regulate his breathing.

He'd had panic attacks before, and this was thankfully mild by his standards. But it had been a long time, and the fact that just that kiss had been enough to do it frustrated him to no end. Mickey made his way into the kitchen and got a glass of water, forcing himself to drink it down slowly. It actually helped. He put the empty glass in the sink and went into the bathroom.

Mickey turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it and climbed in. His breathing had mostly evened out, but that tightness in his chest didn't want to go away. He let the water beat down and massage his shoulders until he finally felt like he wasn't at risk of freaking out anymore. It worked, and soon Mickey was in his room, throwing on sweats and a tank top and crawling into bed. He turned on the TV for some white noise and distracted himself with infomercials until he fell asleep.

\----------

When Ian went to work the following night, he was a man on a mission. He wanted answers, and he was going to get them one way or another. Mickey might be able to run away from him outside, but they had to work together, and unless one of them quit or got fired, that wasn’t going to change. He took the train to work, full of nervous energy. When he got there, he made his way into the employee area and over to his locker, getting changed into his sequined shorts. Ian studied himself in the full length mirror and went through his usual routine. Applying eyeliner, adjusting himself to show off his bulge, putting on lotion to give his skin a glow. But this time, he had gotten to work extra early, looking for a familiar face that could help him achieve his mission. And then, Ian saw him.

“Hey, Chris! Can I talk to you for a second?”

Chris looked up, catching Ian’s eye and walking over. “Sure, what’s up?”

Ian started building the lie before he even knew he was doing it. “I hurt my back at the gym, the dancing hurts like a bitch. Was wondering if you’d consider switching with me tonight and letting me do wait service.”

Chris rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Uh, I’m not much of a dancer.”

Ian waved him off. “You’re totally hot, trust me, the clients won’t even care.”

He could tell that Chris was apprehensive, but too nice to say no, and he capitalized on it. “Thanks dude, I owe ya one!”

Ian made his way to the floor before Chris could argue with him and told the lie to Eduardo, who just shrugged and motioned Ian towards the VIP section. Ian collected drink orders and made his way to the bar to fill them. He looked across the room and watched Mickey at work. _You wanna play, Mickey? Then we’ll play_. He made his way to the DJ booth, secretly enjoying the stunned look on Mickey’s face upon his arrival.

“What are ya drinking tonight?” Ian asked.

“Where’s Chris?” Mickey’s eyes scanned the room but came up empty.

“We switched. What do you want to drink?”

Mickey was thrown by this change of events. “Uh, whiskey neat.”

Ian nodded and headed back to the bar to get Mickey’s drink. While he was there, he also took a couple of the maraschino cherries from their container and put them on his tray. Ian made his way back to Mickey and presented him with the drink.

“Thanks,” Mickey said as he reached for it. He took a few quick sips and Ian could see that he was nervous.

“So what was that last night, Mick?” Ian asked.

“I’m working,” he replied. “I can’t get into this right now.”

Ian picked one of the cherries off his tray, making sure Mickey noticed it. “You know,” he started as he traced his lip with the fruit, “I know you wanted it last night.” Now Ian was teasing the cherry with his tongue and puckering his mouth around it. “What I don’t understand is why you backed off.” Now he lewdly sucked the cherry off of the stem and into his mouth.

Mickey’s eyes had been on Ian’s lips the entire time, and especially after that little show, he wouldn’t meet Ian’s eyes. “Not the time,” he grunted through his gritted teeth.

“Fine,” Ian replied. “We can talk later… or not talk.”

Ian dangled another cherry in front of Mickey’s face and he opened his mouth instinctively. Ian lowered the cherry until it touched Mickey’s tongue and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“You look hot as fuck with your mouth open for me.”

He disappeared before Mickey could form a response. Mickey chewed on the cherry, feeling his erection growing and straining in his jeans. If he didn’t have to stay there and work his set, Mickey would have snuck off into the bathroom and rubbed one out, but instead he was there actively trying to ignore his lust for the ballsy redhead and adjusting himself discreetly.

\----------

When Mickey left the club, he was greeted by the sight of Ian leaning on the wall and smoking a cigarette. He tried to walk past and ignore him, but Ian fell into step with him, not speaking. As they were passing the alley where Ian got jumped, Mickey felt a hand on his wrist and Ian pulled him out of sight. He pushed Mickey against the wall and caged him in with his arms.

“You gonna tell me what that was all about last night?” Ian asked.

Mickey shrugged. “Nothing to tell.”

“Bullshit,” Ian scoffed. “You fuckin’ wanted it, you _still_ want it. Tell me you don’t and I’ll back off.”

Mickey didn’t answer. He was nervous and apprehensive, but _hell yea_ he wanted it. He wouldn’t meet Ian’s eye, instead gazing at a spot on the wall over Ian’s shoulder. While Ian’s approach had been aggressive, he softened now, clearly not wanting to really push Mickey too far out of bounds.

“If you want it, you can have it. I’m right here, Mick.”

Mickey felt his breath quicken, nerves building again at being put on the spot. He forced himself to look Ian in the eye. The light from the streetlamp caught them just right and Mickey noticed how green they were. He was transfixed, and found himself leaning forward until their lips met for the second time. Ian returned the kiss, moving his hands from the wall to cup Mickey’s face as he pressed Mickey’s back against the bricks.

Ian pulled away and dropped to his knees. He unzipped Mickey’s pants and reached in, freeing his straining erection. It bobbed out of the hole and into the air comically. Ian stroked it cautiously a few times, testing Mickey, before he lifted it and licked a stripe underneath from Mickey’s balls to his head, tasting precum. Before Mickey could react, Ian took him into his mouth, moving his head down until his nose was buried in the thatch of Mickey’s pubic hair.

Mickey could feel his cock in Ian’s throat. “Holy shit,” he choked out.

Ian languidly made his way back up the shaft, swirling his tongue and sucking noisily. He felt Mickey’s fingers in his hair, surprisingly tender even when they gripped and tugged. He worked on Mickey’s cock in a frenzy, eager to give him a hell of an orgasm. Mickey was trying and failing at keeping his bearings as Ian unwound him. He was on the edge of his orgasm and tried to get a grip on the wall as he came with a shout, shooting his load into Ian’s mouth. Mickey was panting, his knees like jelly barely keeping him on his feet.

As he caught his breath, Ian got to his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He patted at Mickey’s pockets until he found his phone and took it out. “Unlock it.”

Mickey entered his passcode and handed the phone back to Ian, who entered his number and sent himself a message so he would have Mickey’s. “That was fun, maybe one day we can hang out during daytime hours.”

He slipped the phone back in Mickey’s pocket and left him alone in the alley to tuck himself back into his pants.

_What the fuck just happened?_


	7. Chapter 7

All night, Ian dreamed about his hookup in the alley with Mickey.

When his alarm went off the following morning to take his medicine, he could feel how aroused he was. Ian tried to adjust himself as he got up to go into the bathroom for his pills, but just that little bit of friction made it even worse. _Shit._ He opened his medicine cabinet, pulling out the right bottles and getting out his dose, taking them promptly. When he was done with his task, Ian looked down again at his erection, still poking out prominently through his underwear.

_Fuck it._ Ian had nowhere to be. He pulled down his underwear, stepping out of them and leaving them on the floor. He sat back down on the futon and started stroking himself lazily. Ian fantasized about Mickey, the two of them fucking everywhere; alleys, the club, his apartment. He imagined that his own hand was Mickey's, trying to draw an orgasm from him. He circled the head of his cock with his thumb and spread his precome, breath hitching.

Ian wanted to fuck Mickey very badly. And he wanted Mickey to want to fuck him. He was sure his performance in the alley helped his cause, but he wanted to make sure he stayed on Mickey's mind. He reached over with his free hand until his fingers wrapped around his cell phone. He was going to send Mickey a picture, but last minute he decided to take a short video and send that instead with a follow up text message.

_Woke up thinking about last night, got me so hot. Shoulda fucked you in the alley. Wanted to so fucking bad…_

Ian let the phone slip from his hand as his arousal built. When he knew he was close, he aimed up and came on his own stomach with a few final strokes. Ian slumped back, allowing himself to relax for a couple of minutes before he reached over for his forgotten underwear. He swiped at his stomach to clean himself and got up, tossing them in the clothes hamper and turning on the shower.

\-----------

For the first time in awhile, Mickey woke up feeling sated.

He thought that Ian sure had a pair of balls on him pulling a stunt like that. It was a total turn on. Mickey had an aggressive personality, but he liked people who challenged it instead of cowing to it. And _fuck,_ Ian knew what he was doing. Mickey smiled to himself just at the thought. He rolled onto his back and stretched like a cat, slowly sliding out of bed and to his feet. He grabbed a discarded pair of sweatpants and pulled them on before venturing out into the apartment and making a beeline for the kitchen.

Mickey put on a pot of coffee and started looking around for something to eat. He found a box of Cocoa Puffs and poured himself a generous bowlful. When Mandy finally emerged from her own room and saw how much cereal he was eating, she curled her lips in disgust.

“Gross,” she sniffed. “How do you each that much sweet shit in the morning?”

Mickey gave her the finger and took another heaping spoonful. Mandy grabbed her own smaller bowl from the cabinet and Mickey pushed the cereal and milk across the table to her. She poured some of each and went back for the coffee.

Something about Mickey was off. Mandy found herself watching him as they ate, having trouble placing what was different. He was still taking disgusting mouthfuls of cereal in, humming quietly as he chewed. _Humming. Why the fuck is Mickey humming?_

“Oh my god, you got laid last night!”

He looked up at her sharply. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You're humming and you got this dopey look on your face,” Mandy replied. “You're never like this in the morning unless you got some.”

“Didn't get laid,” he mumbled as he took another bite, trying to cut off the conversation.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you didn't get laid you at _least_ got your dick sucked.”

“ _Jesus_ Mandy!” Mickey sputtered, milk dribbling as he reached for a napkin to catch it.  “Quit being so fuckin’ _nosy_. You don't even know what you're talkin’ about.”

She simply snorted and said, “Okay, sure I don't.”

They ate in silence for a bit, Mickey actively ignoring the glances and smirks his sister gave him. Finally, she got up and put her dirty dishes in the sink. As she passed him to go back to her room, she snuck a kiss on the top of his head.

“You can deny it, but I'm glad you're getting out there, Mick. It's a good thing. Really.”

“Fuck _off,_ ” he groaned.

When he finally went back into his own room, he saw that he had unread messages from Ian. He opened the phone and was _very_ surprised by the video Ian sent him. Ian's dick was… Shit, it was pretty fuckin’ big. No other way to describe it, really. Mickey breathed a little heavier as he watched Ian's hand move up and down his shaft. He was about to close the text window when he saw Ian's follow up message. Mickey tried in vain to huff a laugh about it but the seed was planted and soon he was imagining himself braced against the alley wall while Ian thrusted behind him.

Without thinking about it, he had sat back down on his bed. He played the video again, his free hand finding its way under the waistband of his pants. Mickey hadn’t had sex in some time, and just imagining the two of them together was enough to get him riled up pretty quickly. Before he knew it, he had came into his own hand and was cleaning himself up. Mickey hoped that if the two of them ever did wind up fucking, he lasted longer than a kid getting it for the first time.

Ian sure knew how to get under Mickey’s skin, but he wasn’t about to let Ian know that. He chewed his lip, wondering how to answer the messages without being obvious. He settled for ignoring the content of them altogether.

_Shit, how early were you up this morning?_

Deep down, Mickey knew he was kidding himself about trying to keep things professional. That was out the window the first time he kissed Ian, and was completely shattered last night in the alleyway. But he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, admit it to himself just yet. His phone beeped and when he saw Ian’s response, he couldn’t help but laugh.

_Oh I was UP real early._

Mickey shook his head and put the phone on his nightstand without responding. Despite his interest, he was trying to keep a boundary between them, and he didn’t want to egg Ian on. He looked over at the time on his alarm clock and figured he would spend some time working in his studio before he had to get ready for work.

\----------

Sunday nights at Nirvana were Mickey’s favorite. He loved the crowd, how receptive they were to his music choices. He had always looked forward to Sunday. But maybe, just maybe, seeing Ian played a little part in that on this particular night too. Mickey still wasn’t ready to admit that though. He got dressed, examining himself in the mirror a little harder than normal before giving his reflection a final nod of approval. He grabbed his keys and moved through the apartment to head to work. Mandy was watching TV in the living room, and she gave him her own appraisal before he left.

“Don’t come home tonight,” she instructed.

“What?” He asked.

Mandy stared at him hard. “I don’t want to hear you fucking. Go to the guy’s place, whoever he is.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and opened the door, speaking over his shoulder. “Not getting laid.” He shut the door behind him, but she still had the last word as she yelled after him.

“Whatever. Don’t come home. You look hot, Mick!”

He couldn’t help but feel a warm buzz at her compliment. He got into his car and made his way to work, his fingers tapping restlessly at the wheel. When he was finally parked by the club, Mickey flipped the visor down and gave himself one last look before turning off the car and getting out. He greeted the bouncers as he entered the quiet club. The doors weren’t open yet and even most of the employees hadn’t arrived. Mickey made his way over to get set up in the DJ area. He couldn’t help but periodically scan the room to see if Ian had arrived. So far, it was just Mickey, the bouncers and a few bartenders who were getting ready for the night.

As if Mickey had summoned him, Ian appeared. Mickey saw him enter the room, attention right on him. Ian watched him from a distance and he pretended not to notice, though he found himself peeking up more than he wanted to admit. After a couple of minutes, Mickey looked up and Ian was nowhere in sight. He told himself he didn’t care as he finished getting everything ready. When he was done, there was still some time left before opening and Mickey decided to get himself a drink.

Mickey walked over to the bar and greeted the bartender, whose name he didn’t know. He gave his order and tried to pay for his drink, but they wouldn’t take his money. He made sure to leave a tip and sat there quietly, nursing the beverage in front of him.

“You’re here early,” a voice whispered in his ear.

Mickey jumped a little, startled by the interruption. “You always make it a habit to sneak up on people?” He gave Ian a side eye as the redhead sat down next to him.

Ian motioned to the bartender for some water and turned his attention back to Mickey. “No, but I can’t say I mind catching you off guard.”

Mickey stared into his glass, not sure how to respond. He supposed he could understand why Ian would say that. He did always have a guard up. In his life, he found that it served him best. He wasn’t about to change that now. “Well, don’t get used to it.”

Ian watched him, puzzled. He could practically see the wall Mickey had around him. He wished he knew how to break it down. Mickey stared straight ahead, refusing to look in Ian’s direction. Finally, Ian let out a small sigh and said, “Okay then, see you later.” He slid off of his barstool and went back towards the locker room.

_Shit_. Mickey really hadn’t meant to offend him or whatever. He just didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He huffed a sigh at his own ineptitude, knocking back the rest of the drink and placing the empty glass down on the counter.

The bartender looked at him sympathetically, leaning closer to speak to Mickey without being overheard. “Ian’s a nice guy, give him a chance.”

Mickey glared at him. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you see, but you’re way off base,” he snarled.

One look told Mickey that the bartender didn’t buy it but wasn’t interested in arguing either. “If you say so, chief. I’m just putting it out there.” He walked away without another word, but Mickey had enough and figured he better get over to his station and get ready to work.

\----------

Ian’s heart was never in the dancing, but he was having even more trouble concentrating on his job than normal. He kept finding himself looking over at Mickey, who barely picked his head up the entire night. Ian didn’t understand what his problem was. One minute he was kissing Ian and the next he would barely talk to him. Calling Mickey hard to read was an understatement. He wanted to kick himself for putting himself so far out there. The blow job in the alley, the video message… Ian had been burned before by too many men who saw him as a warm mouth and a hard body, and he felt like he was making it all too easy for it to happen again.

By the time the night was over, Ian was feeling dejected. He went back into the locker room to change into his street clothes and wash the eyeliner off his face. He stole one last glance towards the DJ booth before he left. He didn’t know why he bothered - it was empty like he expected. With a sigh, he hitched his backpack up over his shoulder and left, wishing the bouncers a good night.

Ian just wanted to get home, get undressed, and go to bed.

_Ian._

He wanted to put this entire night behind him and-

_Ian_

That idiot Mickey and-

_IAN._

He pulled his hand back instinctively from the grip on his wrist, turning around quickly to find Mickey next to him. He hadn’t even realized Mickey was there, let alone trying to get his attention.

Ian stared at him accusingly. “What the hell do you want? You just waitin’ out here to act like even more of an asshole to me?” He couldn’t help but feel some pleasure at the guilty look on Mickey’s face.

“Nah man, I wanted to apologize.”

Well, Ian hadn’t expected that. “Really?”

Mickey shrugged, suddenly looking shy. “I mean, yea. I wasn’t _trying_ to be a dick, I just… I don’t know how to… Do this.”

“Do _what,_ Mick?” Ian asked. “We were talking. You seem to do that just fine.”

He sighed. “C’mon, don’t do that, you know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t Mickey,” Ian argued. “I _don’t_ know what you mean. I don’t know you and you don’t seem to want to give me a chance to, so unless you’re going to explain then I’m just going to go home.”

“Fuck, I’m trying here man.”

Ian could feel his resolve soften, but he wasn’t going to let Mickey know that. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Go on.”

Mickey scrubbed his hands over his face. “Look, I just… Shit. I don’t usually hook up with people at work. Hell, I don’t usually even hook up with someone more than once. I keep things very separate. I don’t know how to do this…” He waved his hands between them. “This banter and whatever. And I’m not trying to lose my job if Sidney gets wind of shit.”

Ian could feel the discomfort radiating off of Mickey as he tried to explain himself. He decided to let Mickey off the hook for now. “Shit, just say that next time. You don’t need to be a dick.”

“Alright, alright.” Mickey groused. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

“Fine,” Ian relented. “Now what?”

Mickey bit his lip. “You still wanna show me what you had in mind when you sent me that video this morning?”

Ian smirked and the tension was broken. Mickey cocked his head in the direction of his car and Ian followed after him.

\-----------

“Oh fuck, right there, _fuck._ ” Mickey moaned.

He was on his knees on Ian’s futon, facing and gripping the back to keep himself from ramming into the wall. Ian was standing behind him, hands holding Mickey’s hips as he slammed into him. He dug his fingers into Mickey’s skin, enjoying how pliant Mickey became under his touch. The ride back to his apartment felt like it took forever, the sexual tension between them building. Halfway there, Ian had slid his hand over into Mickey’s lap and started touching him, using his other hand to touch himself. By the time they had gotten there, they barely had the car parked before they were rushing to get inside.

Ian leaned down and sucked a mark behind Mickey’s ear as he reached around to take a hold of Mickey’s leaking cock. He stroked him in time with his own thrusts. Mickey moaned in relief as he came, Ian thrusting into him a few more times before he was came himself. He laid himself along Mickey’s back, catching his breath. Mickey reached back and patted Ian’s thigh to get him to move. When he did, Mickey got up and started gathering his clothes and putting them back on.

“What are you doing?” Ian asked him.

_Was this a rhetorical question, or was he really asking?_ Mickey said, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It _looks_ like you’re getting dressed.” Ian observed.

Mickey snorted. “Good job there, Einstein.”

“Why?” Ian wondered if he had done something wrong that had Mickey eager to get the hell out of there.

Mickey gave him an odd look. “What do you mean ‘why’? I can’t very well drive home naked.”

“Who said you had to go home?” Ian asked quietly.

He seemed to finally realize that Ian thought something was wrong. “Listen, this was great. I wanna hook up again. I just don’t do this sleepover shit. I don’t _do_ all this. It’s just not me.”

Ian looked at him skeptically. “How am I supposed to give you great morning sex if you’re not here?”

Mickey chuckled at that. “I’m not a morning person anyway. I’d rather have afternoon sex. I gotta go, shoot me a text this week, maybe we can do this again.” He was out the door before Ian could object.

\----------

Mickey hadn’t been lying when he told Ian that he didn’t do sleepovers and all that. After Danny, he had never allowed himself to get close to anyone. It was just easier. Safer, even. But as he lay alone, unable to sleep, he was starting to reconsider his position. His bed was so big and lonely with just him in it, and it didn’t have to be. Mickey knew it was too early to really think about long term prospects with Ian, but he couldn’t help but let his mind wander, imagining the two of them in various scenarios. Waking up together and having morning sex, having Ian over to his apartment. He didn’t even know Ian well but he found himself really liking him.

Mickey was so fucked.


	8. Chapter 8

Nearly six weeks after their first hookup, Ian and Mickey were still at it and having a great time. Rather, Mickey was having a great time and Ian was starting to question what exactly was up with his coworker. It had become a given that Mickey would come home with Ian after every shift they worked together. When Ian would emerge onto the street after changing out of his uniform, he would always find Mickey waiting outside in his car. There was never any discussion about it, it just… was. But in the six weeks, they had only ever went to Ian’s apartment. They would barely be finished having sex before Mickey would be getting dressed and wishing Ian a goodnight.

In theory, the arrangement seemed like it should be fun. Many young guys would love a casual relationship with all the benefits and none of the commitment. But Ian was used to being a side piece, a plaything for men who wouldn’t come out of the closet, men who had wives, who just couldn’t or wouldn’t live their truth. Quite frankly, Ian was sick of being that person. He had finally reached a place in his life where he believed that he deserved more than that. He didn’t want to push Mickey. Ian could tell that Mickey was a skittish type, that it wouldn’t take much to send him in the opposite direction than he wanted. But things just felt off and it was really weighing on Ian’s mind. So it only took one misplaced comment for Ian to finally address the elephant in the room.

They had just finished fucking and Mickey was pulling on his jeans. Ian watched as Mickey moved his hips just enough to pull the denim up into place before he buttoned and zipped them. He then stretched and twisted himself. “Man, that fuckin’ futon is killin’ my back. Don’t know how you sleep on that thing every night.”

“Well you’re welcome to invite me over to your place if it’s that much of a hassle,” Ian pointed out.

Mickey pulled his shirt over his head and shrugged. “It’s not that serious.”

Ian hit his limit and he huffed, his annoyance clear on his face and in his voice. “What’s your fuckin’ deal, Mick? You married? Closet case? Just tell me.”

“I… What?” Mickey looked at him, thoroughly confused.

“I’ve been down this road,” Ian sighed. “I’ve been the good time, the side piece, the dirty little secret. I’m not interested in that bullshit anymore. So if you just want to sneak over here and get your rocks off before you head home to your wifey, just fuckin’ spare me.”

“Ian…” Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He was not anticipating the night would end up like this. “I’m not married, it’s not like that at all. I live with my sister.”

“So what’s the problem, then?” Ian asked urgently.

“Fuck, I don’t know!” Mickey’s voice raised near a yell before he remembered how late it was and checked himself. “For starters, I don’t really want my sister listening in on me getting laid.”

Ian couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Oh grow up, Mick. I’ve got five brothers and sisters, it happens.”

“Not to me, alright? It’s never been that easy for me. You have no fuckin’ idea.” Mickey’s voice was strained and Ian could tell he hit a nerve.

He stepped closer and took Mickey’s face in his hands gently. “So tell me.”

Mickey shook his head faintly. “I can’t,” he whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly. He reached up and moved Ian’s hands away, letting go and reaching for his coat. “I’ve gotta go.”

Ian desperately wanted Mickey to stay. He felt like they were right on the precipice of something, and he didn’t want to lose it. “Please don’t go, Mick. Stay with me.”

There was an unreadable look on Mickey’s face. He reached up and stroked Ian’s cheek with his thumb before leaning in and placing a quick peck at the corner of Ian’s mouth. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Just like that, he was gone.

\----------

_ Fuck _ .

Mickey only made it home by sheer luck and muscle memory. He certainly didn’t pay attention to where he was going. It was a miracle he didn’t drive right off the road. His conversation with Ian had shaken him up pretty bad. Initially he just felt guilty about the impression he had been giving Ian. But when the conversation went on and Ian unwittingly tapped into other things on Mickey’s mind, the guilt only exacerbated itself. 

Mickey liked Ian. Quite a bit, in fact. But he was holding himself back. Definitely out of fear. But also out of a misplaced sense of loyalty. He and Danny hadn’t been together in a long time, but Mickey still felt like he was betraying something, even when logically he knew that wasn’t true. 

He tossed and turned all night. Eventually, he got a few hours of sleep but when he woke up, Mickey was still frustrated and spent the day moping around the apartment. He didn’t even want to work on his music. He lazed around the living room with the TV on for background noise, turning the night’s events over in his mind. Mickey slowly came to realize that something needed to be done, and he thought he knew what, but he was dreading it.

Mandy came home in time to be greeted by the sight of Mickey emerging from his bedroom with a duffle bag. “What’s going on?” She greeted him.

He avoided her scrutiny, searching the kitchen counter for his keys. “Headed outta town for a few days.”

“That’s random,” she replied. “For what?”

“Job interview,” came his quick response. Too quick really, he’d practiced the lie since he thought of it, but she was too taken aback to catch on. 

“What, where?”

He shrugged like it was nothing and said, “St. Louis.”

“WHAT?!” Mandy finally stepped in his path and forced him to pay attention to her. “Where the fuck did this come from, Mick?”

“An old buddy in the biz,” Mickey replied.

“Well when the fuck were you gonna tell me, huh?” Mandy was angry and hurt that her brother would keep something this big from her. St. Louis was hours away in a totally different state, for fuck’s sake.

“It just kind of happened, he got a lead. It might not even pan out.” There was a tone of pleading in Mickey’s voice, and she knew that he didn’t want this argument to escalate further. But she was pissed. 

“When are you getting back?” She demanded.

Mickey let out a huff of breath, relieved that she was letting it go for now. “Wednesday, Thursday at the latest. Not gonna miss work.”

She nodded and gave him a brief hug goodbye, but yelled after him as he made his way out of the apartment. “This conversation isn’t over, fuckhead!”

Yea, he knew he would have some explaining to do.

Mickey didn’t enjoy lying to Mandy, but for the purposes of his trip, he knew he had to. Besides it wasn’t a total lie, he justified to himself. He  _ was _ going to St. Louis. But not for a job interview, and not as his final destination. It was just a stop over on his way elsewhere. He got himself situated in his car and turned on the GPS on his phone. Before he got on the move, he opened his text messages and sent one to Ian.

_ Headed out of town for a few days, didn’t want you to think I just bounced if you don’t hear from me. I’ll see you at work Thursday. _

With that, it was time to go.

\----------

The ride to St. Louis was uneventful. A bit of traffic heading out of the city, but beyond that the miles just passed on by. Mickey didn’t really know if he was doing the right thing, but he needed to do something. Get some sort of closure from all of the dark things in his past. At least it was a step. It might not solve everything, but it was a step. 

He found a hotel that didn’t cost an arm and a leg for the night and he gave the clerk enough cash for two nights. He figured he could always decide if he needed the extra night later on. Mickey grabbed his duffle bag from the car and went to his room. He turned on the old TV and found an ashtray on the night table, pushing it closer to where he dropped down on the bed. As soon as he had pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket, Mickey lit one up and blew the smoke up towards the ceiling. He felt restless and agitated, and had no clue how he was going to hold himself together until tomorrow. With a huff, Mickey forced himself to sit up and poke through the drawer in the nightstand to get the hotel’s information booklet. At least if he was going to hole up in this room, he could order himself some dinner. Maybe he could even find a place that would bring him beer, but he wasn’t too hopeful about that.

With food ordered, Mickey decided to hop in the shower to kill the wait time and hopefully settle his nerves down a bit. He had no idea how he was going to fall asleep that night, but he knew he had an early morning ahead and he better figure it out. Eventually, the shower was had and the food was eaten, and there wasn’t a whole lot else that Mickey could do. He finally just turned the lights off and watched TV in the dark until his eyelids got heavy enough for him to doze off.

When his alarm went off promptly at 6am, Mickey shot awake. Truth be told, he was only half asleep anyway, a bundle of nerves and energy for the day ahead. He silenced the noise and rolled off of the bed, padding into the bathroom and turning on the shower. As he stood under the stream of water, Mickey was giving serious consideration to the idea of getting in his car and driving back to Chicago. It was tempting, very tempting. But he couldn't turn back now. Mickey grabbed the hotel bar soap and lathered himself while he thought about what the day ahead would bring.

He was out of the shower and dressed in record time, fussing over himself just a little bit before finally gathering his things and leaving. Mickey had another hour and a half on the road before he reached his final destination, maybe even less so early in the morning. As the miles passed, Mickey lost himself in old memories. Some were good but many, too many, were painful. 

_ They had all come to the sentencing in support of Danny. Mickey, Mandy and their brothers sat lined up right behind him, waiting for the judge to announce her decision. Danny had already been found guilty, a fact which Mickey had yet to accept. Hell, he probably never would either. He focused on staring at the back of Danny’s head, willing his boyfriend to turn around and look at him, but Danny sat stiffly next to his public defender and stared straight forward. _

_ Mickey was trying his hardest to remain calm. He felt himself bouncing his foot restlessly, Mandy’s hand automatically resting on his knee to try to still him. His heart raced when he saw the judge come through the door behind the bench and he chewed on the inside of his lip nervously. Slowly he inhaled and exhaled through his nose. The judge got settled and proceeded to call the case, putting on her glasses and looking at the paperwork she had in front of her. _

_ “Will the defendant please rise?” She said. Danny and his attorney both stood side by side while the judge addressed them. “The defendant, Daniel Mancini, has been found guilty by a jury of his peers of second degree murder. I’ve reviewed statements from the victim’s family members, and while I appreciate their opposition to seeking punishment, I have to weigh several factors in making my judgment. Fact is, Mr. Mancini, you do have prior criminal charges on your record.” _

_ She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes briefly before looking at Danny again, her expression softer. “Mr. Mancini, while I sympathize with your situation, I also believe that your actions could have been avoided. With that said, I hereby sentence you to no less than four and no more than twenty years at Menard Correctional Center, in their medium security ward.” _

_ The judge tried to keep speaking, but Mickey was out of his seat like a shot. “TWENTY YEARS?! You can’t do this! You can’t!” He felt hands on him, trying to pull him back down into his seat, but he pushed them off. “You can’t send him away!” _

_ Mickey grabbed onto the wood railing in front of him, the only thing separating him from Danny. After that, it was all a blur. Hands were on him again, his brothers each holding an arm, Mandy trying to get in front of him to push him back, the judge banging her gavel in an attempt to restore order. By then, the court officers were there and had pushed Colin and Iggy aside to take Mickey out of the courtroom. Danny turned around and met Mickey’s eye, stopping Mickey in his tracks. _

_ “Please stop,” Danny mouthed at him. He was blinking back tears, and the fight went out of Mickey in an instant. The officers started to direct him to the back doors before the judge interrupted them. _

_ “Let him go,” she ordered. The two men exchanged a confused glance but did as they were told, leaving Mickey standing in front of his seat. _

_ “The defendant is to be remanded into custody and will await transfer. This court is adjourned.” She banged her gavel and looked over at the boys sadly. “You have one minute to say your goodbyes.” _

_ Danny didn’t question the judge’s unorthodox allowance. He reached over the barricade and pulled Mickey into him as close as he could, Mickey’s siblings huddling in around the two of them to get in their own goodbyes before Danny was escorted away. The three of them stepped back and gave Danny and Mickey one last moment alone. _

_ “Hey, it’ll be alright,” Danny whispered in his ear. “I’ll be okay. I can hold my own.” _

_ “It wasn’t worth it, D.” _

_ “No regrets, Mick.” _

_ “I’ll come visit you as soon as I can,” Mickey promised.  _

_ He leaned back and looked into Danny’s eyes, that warm chocolate brown that Mickey had been in love with for so long. He wanted to commit every detail to memory. Danny reached up and cupped his face gently, running his fingertips lightly on Mickey’s neck, a small gesture of affection. The court officers came over and Danny stepped away to allow them to handcuff him and take him away. The last thing Mickey saw before he was out of sight was Danny craning his neck to look at him one more time. _

_ Then he was gone. _

Mickey sat in the parking lot of Menard Correctional Center staring at the entrance. Danny was in there, behind those fences and walls and bars. It had been over five years since he went in and Mickey had only been to see him a handful of times, and not at all in the past three or so years. The trip was long and it was too painful. Mickey felt a lump in his throat and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or puke. He thought of the day of sentencing, his promises to come see Danny. He had kept that promise in the beginning, but he couldn’t say that lasted. The guilt was intense, and for a moment it almost pushed Mickey to turn his car back on and just drive the fuck away so he wouldn’t have to face it.

Instead, he forced himself to get out of the car and lock it. He lit a cigarette, content to kill a few more minutes of time before he got a move on. It was the middle of the week, and the lineup of visitors was minimal. He was glad he hadn’t come on a weekend. Mickey puffed at the cigarette and people watched as it burned its way down to the filter. When he was done, he dropped it on the floor and ground it out under his foot. He could only avoid this for so long, and his time was up.

Mickey entered the check in area, presenting the guard with his ID and getting his visitor pass. They weren’t allowed to have their personal possessions on them during the visit, and Mickey moved towards where they had lockers available, putting his things in one except for a few dollars in cash. He remembered that they could buy snacks and drinks with a special card, and brought the money back to get one. Once all of that was done, he was escorted into the visitor’s room and seated at a small table to wait while they had Danny brought down.

He moved towards the vending machines, looking for things that he knew Danny liked. He made a few purchases and brought them back to the table. Mickey found himself picking at the edge of a bag of chips, a nervous habit he couldn’t shake. He had no idea how Danny would react to seeing him. Mickey hadn’t told him he was coming, they hadn’t talked in ages. For all he knew, Danny would take one look at him and tell him to go fuck himself. Mickey wouldn’t blame him if he did. 

When Mickey saw the familiar face heading in his direction, he stopped with his fussing and froze, just looking at Danny being led towards him. Danny had always been a little stocky, and he still was, but now he had bulked up as well. He wasn’t old, only two years older than Mickey, but his time in prison was showing on his face. There was a hardness there that hadn’t been there before. His brown hair was buzzed down into a crew cut. While it was apparent that doing time had been wearing down on him some, he actually looked better than Mickey expected. 

As he got closer, Danny realized who was there waiting for him. He stopped for a moment and just stared at Mickey until the guard urged him forward. They reached the table and Mickey stood up while the guard removed Danny’s handcuffs and retreated. One benefit to medium security, at least, was that they were allowed to have some level of contact and no plexiglass and telephones and handcuffs.

“Holy shit,” Danny whispered. “You’re here.”

“Hey,” Mickey said stupidly. Now that he had Danny in front of him, he didn’t know what to do.

“Holy shit,” Danny repeated. “Get the fuck over here.”

He stepped forward and pulled Mickey into a bear hug, clearly not giving a shit who saw or what they thought about it. Mickey wrapped his arms around Danny and hugged him too, until they heard the guard tell them to step back. They sat down at the table and Danny looked at the snacks.

“I got your favorites,” Mickey said.

“Yea, I see that,” Danny replied. “What the fuck are you doing here, Mick?”

“Been thinkin’ about you a lot lately, wanted to come and see you. I know it’s been too long, I got no excuse. I’m sorry.”

“Mick, I don’t care about that. No apologies, I’m just glad you’re here.” Danny smiled at him, and Mickey saw the same 20 year old who had went away and left him behind. His eyes were still so warm, just like Mickey remembered, maybe a few more hints of crinkles at the corners. He didn’t think he deserved it, that warmth. But it felt good to let himself relish it for that moment.

“How’s your mom?” Mickey asked. “Haven’t seen her around in some time.”

Danny replied, “She moved to Evansville. Closer to come visit than to try to come from Chitown all the time.”

They made some small talk for awhile, catching up on news from the old neighborhood. Danny talked about some of the day to day bullshit of the prison, asked about Mickey’s siblings, talked about Mickey’s job. He knew this was his opening, and he had to take it. Now or never.

“I, uh… I actually met someone. A dancer at my job.” 

Danny, to his credit, had a good poker face and didn’t show much of a reaction to the news. “What’s his name?” He asked.

“Ian.”

“He a good guy? Stays outta trouble?”

“Seems to be,” Mickey told him. “Bit early to know all that but he seems to have his shit together. He’s in college, little younger than me.”

Danny smiled wistfully. “I’m glad, really. As long as he’s good to you, that’s what matters. You deserve it Mick.”

“I dunno about that,” Mickey muttered.

“Look at me,” Danny demanded. When Mickey made eye contact, Danny reiterated, “You. Deserve. It.”

Mickey bit his lip and glanced away but didn’t argue.

The conversation was definitely awkward, but Mickey felt good having it out there and having Danny’s blessing. Slowly, they managed to get back onto more neutral topics and the conversation flowed easily enough. Unfortunately, their visiting time ran out and they had to say their goodbyes. The guard came over to let them know it was time to go, and they both stood up.

Danny pulled Mickey in for another hug. “I’m glad you came, I’ve missed you.”

Mickey nodded into his shoulder. “I missed you too.”

He felt Danny sniff and pulled back to look at him. His eyes were shiny, tears there that he was working not to spill. “Listen, don’t come back here anymore.”

“What?” Mickey couldn’t understand what Danny was talking about. “The fuck you mean?”

“I’m so glad you came, really I am,” he replied. “But it’s hard to see you go. It’s just easier if you don’t come back.  _ Please _ . Write if you want, let Mandy fill me in when she writes, but don’t come back here, Mick.”

Now he could feel his own tears wanting to form, and he willed them away and nodded. Just like in the courtroom that day five years ago, Danny touched Mickey’s face one last time before he was handcuffed. As the guard was about to lead him away, Danny leaned over and whispered in Mickey’s ear.

“It’s been a long time, but I never changed my mind Mick. As long as I know you’re out there and free, it was worth it. It’ll always be worth it.”

Before Mickey could respond, Danny was gone. This time, he didn’t look back.


	9. Chapter 9

“If I have to look at this book for one more second, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Ian looked up and smirked as his classmate Jason snapped his biology textbook closed and pushed it away from him. The library was quiet and it made a loud noise which had the librarian looking up from her post. Ian leaned forward, hoping to quiet Jason down before he got them both in trouble.

“Hit your wall, huh?” He whispered.

“This classification shit is throwing me off,” Jason complained. “I can’t keep it all straight.”

Ian pushed the book back to him and slid his own chair closer. “C’mon, it’s not that hard. Let me show you.”

He grabbed his class notes and spread them out, explaining the different categories, showing how and why some animals would wind up under the same groupings. When he was done, Jason still wasn’t quite convinced, but seemed to have lost his steam.

“Thanks. Don’t know that I’ll ever get the hang of it but that helped.” Jason started gathering all of his books together and shoving them into his backpack. “I think I’m just tapped out today, I’m gonna head home. You want a ride?”

Ian thought he could stand to put in a little more library time, but it was getting late anyway and it was hard to pass up a ride. Besides, he could always try to study more at home, provided he could ignore his will to turn on the TV and call it a day himself.

“That’d be great, thanks.” Ian followed suit, packing his own things and getting up to follow Jason out.

The ride home was pleasant. Ian liked Jason. He was Southside but sweet, not as rough around the edges, fairly straight-laced. They chatted about their professor and gossiped about their fellow classmates. Jason pulled up in front of Ian’s apartment building and noticed a guy sitting in the shadows on the front stoop, drinking a beer. While they talked, Jason could see that the guy was half in the bag and liable to fall down the stairs any minute. If they sat there long enough, they might even get to watch it.

“That dude’s about to go ass over elbow if he’s not careful,” Jason observed.

Ian turned to follow his stare and saw Mickey struggling to get up from where he was seated. “Oh shit, Mickey.”

Jason quirked an eyebrow at him. “You know that guy?”

Ian was fumbling with his seatbelt, now feeling much more in a rush to get out of the car. “We work together.”

The figurative gears in Jason’s head started turning and he was piecing the puzzle together. “Oh shit c’mon Ian, is that the coworker you’ve been banging?!”

“I need to see what he’s doing here,” Ian replied, totally ignoring the question. “I’ll see you in class. Thanks for the ride.”

He fumbled his way out of the car and hurried across the walkway leading to his building. “This isn’t over, Ian!” Jason yelled out the window as he screeched away from the curb.

Mickey had managed to get his footing but he was still holding on tightly to the banister to make sure he didn’t fall. As Ian approached, he saw a six pack of beer at Mickey’s feet. Most of the bottles had been open and drank, the caps scattered on the floor. He must have been waiting there for some time.

“What are you doing here, Mick?”

“Came to see you.” His speech was deliberate in the way that only comes from someone who’s concentrating very hard on keeping it that way.

“Looks like you’ve been here awhile.” Ian was frustrated. He was trying not to show it because he knew a fight with a drunk Mickey would probably be a huge waste of time, but nonetheless, he felt how he felt. “Why didn’t you just text me?”

Mickey shrugged with the arm not gripping on for solace. “Figured you’d turn up eventually. And look. You’re here, aren’t ya?”

Ian stayed silent, watching the way Mickey was watching him. The last Ian had heard from him was that weird text a few days before about heading out of town. He’d texted Mickey back, checking to see if everything was alright, and received nothing in return except for radio silence. It bugged him. Ian wasn’t sure if it was hurt feelings or frustration or what, but it bothered him. Despite the fact that they didn’t normally talk until they saw each other at work anyway, it bothered him. Ian cared a lot more than he wanted to admit.

Mickey was oblivious to the fact that Ian was pissed, instead directing his attention way too far off in the wrong direction. “So, that guy? Were you a date or somethin’?”

“What if I was?” Ian was glaring now, jaw clenched in anger, voice rising in a challenge. _Who the hell was Mickey to ask that, anyway?_

Ian almost wished he’d been on a date just to spite Mickey. Jason was cute and normal and didn’t come with a metric fuckton of baggage and bullshit. He was also very straight, so that wouldn’t happen anyway. But Ian considered for a moment the idea of letting Mickey believe it, because fuck him. He had no right to ask or to get jealous at the idea when he wouldn’t even spend the night after they hooked up.

Even through his jealousy and drunkenness, Mickey knew he’d taken the conversation in the wrong direction, and he quickly tried to divert it. “Whatever, it’s a free country, man. You can do what you want.”

He let go of the railing and made as if to walk away but his foot caught on the six pack, now filled with the mostly empty bottles. He would have went down like a lead balloon if Ian’s reflexes hadn’t kicked in and caught him, but he did still manage to kick a few of the empties out onto the sidewalk. They didn’t break, but they did rattle loudly on the cement. Ian saw a light go on in his neighbor’s apartment and figured he better get this conversation moved out of sight and out of mind.

He pushed Mickey back towards the steps and bent over to start picking up the mess. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere, c’mon. Get inside before my nosy neighbors come to investigate.”

Ian got Mickey to the door and let them both into the building. He was glad that he lived on the lowest floor, not needing to try to navigate Mickey up any stairs. Ian steered Mickey down the hall, telling himself not to shove, despite his growing desire to do exactly that. Once he got his apartment door open, he did give Mickey a bit of a push, right through the entryway. Ian followed him in and kicked the door closed, brushing past Mickey and dropping the six pack in the kitchen sink before going into the bathroom, kicking that door closed behind him as well.

He braced his hands on the ledge of the sink and stared at his reflection. _What the fuck am I doing here?_ In that moment, Ian kind of wanted to cry out of sheer frustration. He’d come so far in recent times, getting his shit together, doing well in school, maintaining stability and structure in his life. He was taking his meds and monitoring his bipolar disorder. His life wasn’t perfect, but it was _his_ , and it was good. Ian had left most of his troublesome ways behind and now in the blink of an eye, it all felt threatened. He had not come this fucking far to let it all slip away from him. No one was worth all that, no matter how intoxicating they might seem.

Ian straightened up, appraising himself once more in the mirror. Despite how he was feeling, his eyes were dry. He knew he and Mickey needed to talk. The conversation might not be good, but it was necessary. He opened the door, prepared for whatever drama was to come, prepared for some drunk nonsense, or more of Mickey fronting like he always seemed determined to do. But he wasn’t prepared to see Mickey, sitting on his storage chest, looking totally defeated. Mickey’s elbows rested on his knees, his head in his hands. He didn’t look up when Ian opened the bathroom door, but Ian knew he heard it by the way he cringed. Ian felt his resolve weaken but he didn’t want to just give Mickey the out. Instead he went and sat down on his futon across from Mickey, and he waited.

The silence was a long one, verging on uncomfortable. Ian refused to break it, refused to put Mickey out of his misery. If he’d sat in front of the building waiting for that long, it was obviously for a fuckin’ reason. If that was the case, he could tell Ian what it was himself without needing to have it dragged out of him. And he did. Eventually Mickey spoke, not looking up from where his head hung down, his voice low.

“I went to see my ex.”

Ian felt his chest tightening, insecurity coursing through him. So maybe he wasn’t the dirty little secret this time, but instead just the layover until Mickey went back to the other guy. He should have known better than to involve himself with a coworker. No way to avoid each other now, unless Ian got a new job.

“Congrats,” he said snidely. “So did you come over here just to tell me in person? You could have just sent me a text message.”

Mickey looked up then, not understanding Ian’s attitude. “Wait, what? I told you, I wanted to see you.”

“Oh, so you could end things in person?” Ian huffed. “Why, you think you look better that way? Or it’s the right thing to do or some shit?”

“No, Ian, you’ve got it all wrong.” Mickey’s face was earnest, really wanting Ian to pay attention to what he was saying. “I wanted to see you to _see you_. I’m not getting back with my ex. I went to visit him in prison.”

He felt the tension in his chest loosen a little, but Ian was still cautious. “So you didn’t go see him to try to get back with him?”

Mickey shook his head. “Nah, I went because I needed to get some closure.”

Ian nodded slowly, taking this information in. Not only was Mickey not trying to get back with his ex, but he wasn’t even really in the picture. He felt a palpable sense of relief, which helped to lighten the tension in the room. Mickey must have felt it too, because his demeanor eased up a little.

He reached over and picked at a piece of fuzz on Ian’s pants, speaking softly. “I actually told him about this guy I met. A guy I work with.”

A pleasant warmth spread through his chest. “Yeah?”

Mickey nodded shyly. “Yeah, seems like a good guy. It’s a bit early but y’know. I like him.”

Ian reached over and cupped Mickey’s face, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb. He leaned forward and closed the space between them, kissing Mickey softly. “I bet he likes you too, you should ask him out.”

“That’s a good idea.” Mickey played along, stopping between sentences to punctuate his words with another kiss. “Think he’d go for it?”

“I think your odds are pretty good.” He pushed a stray lock of hair back from Mickey’s forehead.

Ian sat back, grabbing Mickey’s hands and pulling him forward until he moved off the storage chest and flopped down next to Ian on the futon. His body was pressed along Ian’s side. It felt good to have Mickey so close to him, not rushing to go home, not pushing him away. They stayed there quietly for a few minutes until Ian broke the silence.

“So, your ex is in prison?” When Mickey nodded, Ian couldn’t help but ask his next question. “For what?”

Mickey stiffened, and Ian thought he was going to avoid answering, but after a moment he spoke. “Second degree murder.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Ian muttered. “Who’d he kill?”

It felt like an eternity before Mickey answered. “My father. He killed my father.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on Tumblr at [Grumbles and Mumbles](http://grumblesandmumbles.tumblr.com).
> 
> I've also made a dance playlist of songs on YouTube that make me think about these two idiots. It's [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL1zYTSq9eYQVxBKEJpElstTWA6fhCAsJb) if you're interested.


End file.
